They All Fall Down
by Arayal
Summary: I upped the rating, and added the 3rd chapter, here's a small excerpt from it- Ian whispered silkily into her ear,"Didn't I tell you that mouth would get you into trouble, Granger? But my mates and I... we can think of better uses for it..." HGDM (It's g
1. Everything I Knew Was Reduced To Rubble

Recently I have discovered a penchant in me for fantasy. First it was Lord of the Rings, and now Harry Potter. I'm also a fan of polar opposite non-canon couples. It stands to reason that my favorite would-be couple in HP is Hermione/Draco. I think that it's exceedingly cute. Standard Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter & Co., or any associated paraphernalia. The aforementioned belong and were created by one J.K. Rowling, one of the most imaginative minds of our time.

And without further ado, my fanfiction.

They All Fall Down

Chapter 1: Everything I Knew Was Reduced To Rubble.

"Mum, Dad, I'm home! You were late so I took a cab. I paid for it with the money you sent me at Christmas. Mum? Where are you?" Hermione Granger called as she dragged her trunk across the threshold of her parents' small, plain, and neat house.

When she had first recieved the letter from Hogwarts, her parents had been... less than thrilled. The attitude of the community they lived in was much like that of a certain Privet Drive. However, unlike the Dursleys, Mr. and Mrs. Granger loved their magical child and were supportive. They left it up to her to decide, and as they say, the rest is history.

Now she wandered the seemingly empty house, wondering if they had gone to pick her up finally. By God she was tired. If they didn't answer she was going straight to bed. She tried once more. "Mum, Dad, are you here?"

"Darling, we're in here," called her mother. The voice was hoarse and waterlogged, as if the person it belonged to had been crying for quite some time.

Hermione burst into her parents' room where they were both perched on the edge of the bed with an old shoebox between them. Her mother had a box of tissues on her lap, and used ones littered the floor. To Hermione's surprise, her father's eyes were red rimmed as well. They held themselves stiff and as far away from each other as was possible.

Hermione felt an unpleasant stirring in the pit of her stomach as she took in the scene. "What's wrong? What's happened?" she demanded sharply. Her parents refused to meet her eyes, which only increased her panic. "Have you been fighting?"

"Of course not. Your mother and I simply had a disagreement. Sweetums, perhaps you should sit down." Her father pulled the shoebox into his lap, and patted the seat between he and his wife.

"I don't want to sit down! Tell me what's happened!" Worry made the inquiry sharper than she intended.

"Hermione Lynn Granger. You know better than to talk to your--to us in such a tone! Now sit down," her mother commanded. Her own tone brooked no argument. Hermione plopped down between them.

"Why were you and Mum arguing?" She faced her father, reading the signs, correctly, that her parents had some unspoken agreement that he would be the one to explain.

"Your mother didn't think that you were ready for what we have to tell you. I did. I do," he stressed. The feeling in her belly got stronger with these words.

He continued. "There's something we've been keeping from you, Sweetums, and I want you to promise me that you'll hear us out." He paused and waited for her nod of assent. "We've been putting it off, but... Well, you're sixteen now and going into your last year at that wizarding school. We weren't supposed to tell you, but we found out that you're the main contender for Head Girl. The headmaster sent an owl to us some weeks ago. You have proved that you are intelligent, responsible, honest, and from what we gather, loyal to your friends. Not to mention beautiful. We're so proud of you,"

"We really are," seconded her mother.

Hermione was pleased that they were proud of her, but... "That doesn't explain why you're both weeping. What are you on about?"

"We feel that you're now old enough to know the truth of your origins. That you're mature enough to handle what we must tell you. You have to understand-- it was quite sudden. And we'd wanted a baby for so long but I--"

"Your father is sterile. He had mumps when he was a boy and is unable to sire a child." Her mother was crying again as she interrupted. Hermione could hear the catch in her voice from behind.

"Did Mum have an affair?!" Hermione asked dumbly. Dimly she realized that was absurd but it was somehow the easiest explanation. The one that would hurt her the least. Her father quickly put an end to that hysterical line of reasoning.

"No! Not hardly, Sweetums."

"Then I'm adopted?" Shock rendered her numb. It was the only other explanation. Yet the realization came in a surreal way, as if it was happening to someone else, or on the soap operas her mum loved. She knew what she should be feeling, but was unable to actually feel it. She was adopted.

"That's a closer description, but still not entirely accurate. We found you on our doorstep one day. You couldn't have been more than a week old at most. In this box is everything we found with you, except the wicker cradle of course. It's in the attic."

He removed the lid from the box and pulled out an infant sized shell pink robe from inside, along with matching booties and a bonnet. Then there was a small glass box. Then a roll of parchment.

"This is the letter that was with you. More of a note actually."

Hermione snatched a letter from his hands and smoothed it out to read,

"Dear Mr. and Mrs. Granger,

I have observed you for a while and now know that you are the best people I could leave to the care of my precious daughter, Hermione. The danger she would face if I kept her is grave, and I am unwilling to risk it. I beg you to understand. I love her with all of my heart, but her safety comes above all else. If she takes after her father or I at all, you may present her with the item I left her when you feel she is old enough. She'll know what it is and how to activate it.

This part is for my baby girl when she finally sees this letter. I'm sorry, darling, that I couldn't raise you. There were extenuating circumstances at the time of your birth. I want you to know that your Mummy loves you very, very much and if I could be there with you I would be. I'm certain that if your father knew you existed he would love you just as well and agree with my decision. But due to the circumstances I could not tell him of you. Enjoy your present, it may be all that is left of me.

With all my love, Your Mummy, C.W.R."

When she was finished reading, Hermione looked up listlessly. She gently re-rolled the parchment and held it carefully in a loose fist.

"Dear," Mrs. Granger began hesitantly. Her voice was still clouded with tears, but Hermione refused to look at her or her... or her adopted father. "There were some things in that letter that we didn't quite understand. Can you explain it? From what we've learned of you we thought it might mean she was--"

"Yes, Mu- yes. It means that my biological mother was a witch. And my father was probably a wizard." She informed them flatly.

"Oh dear. I thought perhaps..."

"The baby robe, the parchment, and this. It's sort of like a magical music box," she explained, picking up the glass box. "C.W.R." she said clearly. A sweet, soothing melody began to emanate from the box and soft colors flashed in time with the rhythm. It was quite lovely, she observed distantly. "Only a witch would have these things."

Hermione realized she was thinking of everything from the outside. The numbness had not abated, and the emotions stayed frozen inside of her. She looked at the people she had thought to be her parents for sixteen years, and vaguely realized she should have suspected. She didn't look anything like either of them, nor anyone else in the family.

"May I be excused? I'm a bit tired," 'Understatement of the century' she thought bitterly.

"Of course." her father aquiesed anxiously. "If you need anything don't be afraid to come to us."

She stood up and began to walk stiffly out the door.

"'Mione, darling, we do love you. We love you as much as we would if you were ours biologically."

Without sparing a glance behind her, Hermione only nodded jerkily as she exited the room. Once in her own, she threw herself down on the bed. Her eyes were dry, but they burned with tears that refused to fall. Her mother must have perished in the first war against Voltemort. That was the only explanation she could think of as to why she hadn't come back for her.

Even this thought didn't provoke the tears to fall. It just didn't seem real, she reasoned. How could it? Her whole world had just come crashing in around her and she'd hardly had time to process the ruins that had formerly been her life. It was only natural...

Hermione let out a sharp bark of mirthless laughter. There she went again, reducing her emotions to cold, unfeeling logic. Typical Granger, as Malfoy would probably say if he were there. Somehow, that thought was slightly comforting. This convinced her that she was obviously batty from exhaustion.

She turned onto her back and looked at the ceiling. She really was quite tired and her eyelids began to lower. The last subconcious idea that occured to her before sleep overtook her was that if Malfoy ever called her a Mudblood again, she would wipe the smirk right off his smug little ferret face. Suddenly, the prospects for the next school year were marginally lighter. She sunk into sleep with the sweet image of Malfoy's smirking profile turning into that of a ferret.

I hope you liked it. I'm sorry it's not longer, but this is basically just a teaser to see everyone's reaction. If it gets enough support I'll continue. 


	2. All I Have Left Are Ashes

Hello again. I can't believe all the support I've gotten! Way more than I expected, considering this is my first HP fanfic. There are a few shout outs I wanted to give to particularly helpful/interesting/ego boosting reviewers:

whogirl: Thanks

DCMMFAN: okay

sexy-jess: Really? Already? Why don't you e-mail me who you think it is and I'll respond with a negative or affirmative. Thanks a bunch, I'll try.

foxer: I won't spoil it for you. Read and you'll find out.

McGonagall's Cat: Thanks! I'll be sure to fix that mistake. I guess I didn't do my reasearch as thoroughly as I thought.

EosRaven: I don't know yet. Maybe ;) Actually, I had someone else in mind to be her father.

rembrandt: Thanks.

snowyangel83: Thanks for the praise and the good ideas. I haven't decided yet whether he's gonna be HB. (Probably not though-- you're right that plot is a bit stale. I was thinking prefect, maybe...?) But the HB ideas you had were brilliant. Perhaps you should write a story.

Draco-Malfoy-Rules:(I agree (;) Thanks, I like to think that about my writing as well.

anna: I know I should have clarified and I can see where you might be confused. Hermione's home for the summer holidays, not Christmas. I'm guessing that the Grangers don't keep Galleons, Sickles, or Knuts around, so they probably sent her Muggle money. Obviously she couldn't use it at Hogwarts, so saved it to be used when she got home... say to pay for a cab. Sorry about the confusion.

I do have one more thing to say. Hermione's father is most definately NOT Severus Snape. Not even I would venture that far into the rabbit hole.

And now, to the second chapter, since you all seem to want it.

Chapter 2: All I Have Left Are Ashes...

Hermione started out of her fitful sleep sometime before dawn. The sky was just fading from pitch black to a dull gray, signaling the probability of rain. At first she just laid there in the gloom, waiting. Eventually, as the sky brightened, she heard the sounds of the world awakening. Birds chirped outside, doors on the block opened and closed and vehicles revved up so their drivers could be off to work. A typical day.

Inevitably, she heard the stirrings of her parents as they arose and prepared for the day ahead. Showers were taken and breakfast was made, and then there was the typical mad scrambling for keys and last minute things-to-do. Then the door opened and slammed as Mr. Granger left in his white sedan. Fifteen minutes later, there was a repeat perfomance and Mrs. Granger pulled out in her navy blue sports utility vehicle. A typical day.

Only it wasn't typical at all. Nothing was as it was before. Nothing could ever be the same. Hermione was quite shocked that the world had not been put on hold, as it certainly felt that way to her. She was also surprised by the deep, urgent desire she had not to see or speak to the people she had thought were her parents for sixteen years and nine months. The desire was so strong that the first owl she got from Ron or Harry she was going to owl back that they come and get her straight away.

When she was certain that there was no one left in the house, Hermione rose and showered. In the process of looking at herself in the mirror, she felt the very illogical urge to smash the piece of glass to bits. Her reflection mocked her, telling her that she should have known all along!

Neither of the Grangers' hair had that untamable quality that hers did. Mrs. Granger's was a soft looking dark brown, and her husband's was so light as to almost be blond, though he was slightly balding. There was no trace of them in the profile either. Hermione's features were delicate, as if carved from porceline. Her adoptive father's were blunt, and her mother's strikingly handsome. They were also rather tall, while Hermione was sorely lacking in that department.

"I should have known," she whispered, "I should have seen it,"

When she got back to her room, she notice that sometime during the night one of them must have brought the shoebox to her room. She stared at the thing that had turned her world upside down and wanted nothing more than to sledgehammer it to bits. Unbidden, a fury to rival even the stongest hurricane overtook her. How dare she? How dare C.W.R. do this to her, whoever that was. She hadn't even had the decency to leave a full name. How was she supposed to find out who she was? Why had she left her in the first place? Jumbled questions slipped in and out of Hermione's mind, and the anger, while not completely extinguished, was somewhat overtaken by confusion.

She picked up the box and brought it to her bed. She laid the contents out separately. Was this really all that was left of the woman who'd given birth to her? Was this all she'd ever have of her mother? She picked up the glass 'music box' and examined it carefully. She refused to believe that this was it. Finally, on the sixth side she hit paydirt. There was a miniscule groove smack in the middle and when she prodded it a little with her fingernail the box popped apart. The music began to play, even sweeter than before. It was oddly soothing to her frayed nerves.

Inside was a small pouch that when Hermione tipped it up spilled several Galleons and Sickles and a few Knuts. Under this was a tiny cameo, with a woman that Hermione could only guess was her mother. The picture smiled and alternately waved and blew kisses. To the girl looking at it, the likeness was astounding.

She was looking at a near replica of herself. The only differences that she could see was the hair. Her mother's, while curly, fell in ringlets about her face, as Hermione's would only do if she spent an ungodly amount of time on it. The only other was the shape and color of the eyes, Hermione's were brown and almond shaped, while her mothers were bright blue and slightly wider. The overall facial structure was identical. She clutched the cameo, unable to look away. A lump emerged in her throat, and for the first time she cried. Tears streaked unchecked down her soft cheeks and fell to the bedspread below.

Finally, she set the portrait aside and looked to see if there was anything else inside. At the bottom was a piece of parchment folded several times over to be able to fit. She pulled it out and opened it gently. The words were somewhat faded but still legible.

"My Darling Hermione, I'm so glad that you have worked out the secret of the Mystery Box. I was half worried that you wouldn't, but I daresay you have the intelligence of you father and it wasn't too difficult. As you have surmised I am a witch and your father is a wizard. I wrote this letter to you separately, for I wanted you to be the first to read it.

I had no choice but to leave you with the most loving and capable Muggles I could find. It was safer that way. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had risen to power and I did not want you caught in the fray. I hope you can understand why, he's probably got a whole section in the history books to himself. It was only because I love you so very much.

Perhaps you are wondering how I was able to hide my pregnancy? It was simple actually. By casting a glamour on myself I appeared quite normal. That's how I was able to fool your father. You must understand. He was very important to the cause he was working for, and it was imperative that he not be distracted.

Of course Professor Dumbledore knew, but then, he knew everything. He no doubt still does.

I'm sorry I never came back for you, even if I did survive. It was probably because you were getting older and didn't need me to come and uproot you from a happy life. I assure you that your happiness is above all else on my agenda, except for your safety of course.

Oh, dear I almost forgot! Please forgive me, for not disclosing my name in the previous letter, but I couldn't be certain it wouldn't be intercepted. My name is Catarina Wendolynn Rookesbury. Hermione was my maternal grandmother's name. We come from a long line of witches and wizards on that side of the family, I'll have you know

I do hope that you're not too angry with me, or your other parents for that matter. We have all done what we thought was best, I'm sure. I hope that you can forgive me, and when you're ready, find me, or at least what became of me. 

Be good, Dear, and listen to your other parents. They love you just as much as I do. Mind your manners and do well at Hogwarts; your future depends on it. If you want any kind of career in the magical world, make certain you get good marks there. What else can I say? Oh, yes. If you do meet your father, don't judge him too harshly. He means well, he's just, well... him.

All of my love,  
Mummy"

Hermione read and reread the letter. Finally, she had some of her answers. Yet somehow she had even more questions than before. Why had Dumbledore never told her, if he had indeed known her mother was pregnant? He must have seen the likeness-- it was exceedingly obvious, after all. For that matter, what about some of the other older teachers? Certainly McGonagall had been around at that time.

And another thing. If her mother had been in the predecessing Order, as she hinted at in the letter, why hadn't anyone ever mentioned her? In all the conversations, all the mentioning of previous members, no one had ever mentioned a Catarina Rookesbury. And the most burning question of all, the one that had been niggling at her mind throughout the past day: who was her father? Why was his identity such a secret? Did he ever find out about her? If so, why hadn't he ever contacted her? Or had she met him already? If that was the case why hadn't he said anything? He must have recognized in her the face of his former lover.

Unless...

Unless her father had perished in the war. Or maybe her mother an father had gotten together after the war and went to live a happy life... without Hermione. Somehow this thought was even more painful than the first, and she refused to believe such a thing could be true.

Just as she was puting the contents of the shoe box away (to be safely nestled in the bottom of her trunk) there was a tapping on her window. Hedwig was perched on her sill, looking annoyed with the robins that were putting up such a fuss in the tree outside the window. Hermione let her in and offered her a drink. The snowy owl declined. Off came the parchment around her leg and the white bird fluffed her feathers. The note appeared to be standard issue summertime salutations and full of how much Harry hated the Dursleys. Hermione halted Hedwig before she flew away.

"Could you stay for a moment? I want you to take something back to Harry for me."

Hedwig nodded regally and stayed put on the sill. Hermione scrambled around in her trunk for her quill and parchment and hurriedly dashed off a quick note--

"Urgent news. Get hold of the Weasleys and have them owl me straight away. I have to get out of this house"  
-Hermione"

--and attached it to the owl's leg. Hedwig took off and soon became invisible against the gray of the sky. Hermione worried that she'd been too vague and that they would think she was in some kind of danger.

In a manner of speaking she was. In danger of losing her mind. Despite her mother's words, Hermione could not help but feel angry with her parents. All of them, but mostly her adoptive ones. Hadn't she proved over and over that she was a responsible, intelligent young woman? Yet they'd waited until she was almost seventeen to tell her. Didn't they realize what she'd went through? Thinking she was a freak because absolutely no one on either side of the family was or had ever been a witch. (Hermione had gone through the family tree numerous times.) Being called a Mudblood by likes of Draco Malfoy and his gaggle of Slytherin cronies. No, she maintained, they should have told her when she recieved the first letter. It was practically unforgivable that they had waited so long.

Practically, because no matter what she tried to convince herself of, she still loved her parents.

The reply came much sooner than she expected. Hermione was just making herself some lunch when Hedwig flew in through the ajar kitchen window. She looked quite frazzled and this time accepted a bowl of water. She waited patiently for the girl to read the short note:

"What is it? What's wrong? Has something happened? Are you hurt? Are your Mum and Dad hurt? Please answer.--HP"

Hermione scribbled a negative on the back of his parchment:

"Nothing's happened to me, Harry, at least physically. I'm not hurt, nor are they. I apologize for causing you panic, but I was in a hurry. I found out that I was, well, for lack of a better word, adopted. I don't want to stay here any more. Please inform Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, that as soon as possible, I would like to go to the burrow. Or even the other place. Please don't ask questions right now, I'll explain when we're all together. I truly am sorry for worrying you.--Hermione"

Hedwig soared off once more. Hermione knew Harry, and soon Ron as well, would be bursting with a thousand questions once they finally met up. But she needed time to get used to the idea herself, and didn't want to explain through owl post.

She spent the day doing a whole lot of nothing. She watched the telly for a bit, tidied up what little untidiness there was in the house, then began to read a library book she had gotten special permission from Madame Pince to borrow over the summer: "The Collaborative Record of Hexes, Curses, and Counter-curses, and their Uses" -by Adolpho Ferenze. Needless to say, she stayed immersed for quite some time.

At around five o'clock, she heard the unmistakable sound of a car pulling into the drive. Quickly, she packed up her things and retreated upstairs. She locked herself in her room, and extinguished the light.

A few moments later, she heard footsteps in the hall. They paused outside her room, as if the person might knock. Instead, a heavy sigh was heard and the feet continued on. Hermione exhaled in relief. She was not ready to face either of them yet, and it would have been impossible to fake slumber had her father decided to check in on her.

She sat in front of her vanity, and surveyed her reflection. Something seemed... hollow. Like there was something missing that she had never noticed wasn't there before, but was now glaringly obvious. Experimentally, she pulled her mass of hair back and braided it tightly. The effect was striking. Her face seemed less small without her 'lion's mane,' and tendrils fell endearingly to frame it. Perhaps she would wear it like that for special occasions. It was certainly easier than taming it into curls.

Turning on her bedside lamp, she once again pulled out her book and lost herself within the tome. It really was quite interresting. Perhaps she'd be able to teach Harry and Ron something when they returned to school.

So, how'd you like it? I know there was only a passing mention of Draco in this chapter, but I'm planning for the one after the next (chapter four) to concentrate almost exclusively on him. Did you catch the allusions I made to him? :) I'm sorry if it seemed a bit disjointed, I just had so many ideas at once and didn't want to lose any of them. I'll elaborate on some of the things I only skimmed over in chapter 3. Until then, Ciao! 


	3. Only fools tread on the devil's ground

**Hi, all. I've decided to write another chapter even though my reviews have hit a plateau. I know I said that the forth chapter would be Draco oriented, but due to an unexpected turn of events(mainly the direction this chapter took) I will have to postpone that particular piece of prose. **

**I know at first this may seem meaningless, but there's a lot of subtle foreshadowing in the first half, that I hope some of you will pick up on. I tried to cut down on her thoughts of Draco, but these thoughts were simply unavoidable in the second half. It is imperative to the plot and contains foreshadowing as well.**

**I hope you like it, and here it is. This is a big'un kiddies.**

**Chapter 3: Only fools tread on the devil's ground...so call me a fool.**

Hermione had never been particularly adept at making friends. Going into her first year of primary school, she had been tested, observed, and prodded until she was finally labeled a prodigy and immediately skipped into fourth year. Predictably, she excelled at the actual school work, but was so out of her depth socially that she was unable to interract with her older, and in her eyes, much more sophisticated classmates on any kind of level outside of the classroom.

Thus she became the prime target of the easily-made-jealous children, both male and female. She had her hair dipped in ink, her teeth made fun at, and had even been hit once or twice by particularly sadistic children. The entire experience left her emotionally scarred and effectively put her off friendship of any kind. Left without this singularly important facet of a little girl's life, Hermione turned to books. She read all the time. In any position, anywhere, and anything she could get her greedy little fingers on. She read novels and plays, fiction and non-fiction, in any genre and for any age group. She even read product manuals. And most amazing of all for a seven year old, she understood most of it. That is she could process and store the information in her brain for future reference.

Eventually books became her window to the world, as well as her only source of companionship. Immersed in the magical spell the words weaved around her, she could ignore the teasing and the taunts. She could pretend she was somewhere else, sometime else, and most of all, someone else.

Slowly, her timidity metamophosed into something else. Her quietness turned into aloofness. Her anxiety to arrogance (she knew that she was more knowledgable than most kids older than her.) And lastly her fear into a calculated iciness. Once the bullies realized they couldn't intimidate her anymore, they grudgingly gave up. She was the darling of all the teachers, and with her new found confidence they couldn't touch her.

Instead, she got new nicknames: ice princess, snob, know-it-all, and toward the end, queen of bitches. (her classmates were thirteen and fourteen and therefore beginning to experiment with cursewords)

Little did they know that the 'transformation' was strictly on the exterior. She had been on a steady decline toward a nervous breakdown at the tender age of ten due to the stress of school and the pressure of her parents and teachers to not just do well, but to do _exellently_.

Then the letter from Hogwarts came that summer. Hermione was so disbelieving that she discarded it, believing it to be some kind of practical joke from her classmates. But then she got a second, then a third. With each were detailed instructions to a place called the Leaky Cauldron, as well as a list of items she would need. The address was in a rather shifty area of London, and at first her parents refused to take her. Only after she begged did they reluctantly give in and drive her to the decidedly shady area.

Smack in the middle of the neighbourhood was a quaint little pub called the Leaky Cauldron.

"There it is Dad!"

"Where?" he replied testily. He had no notion of what this nonsensical hocus pocus giberish was about and disliked humouring his daughter in this way, in this place. His wife gave him a warning look and he sighed. She so hated to dispell their daughters whims, that she wouldn't even if it was for her own good. "All I see are a lot of dingy, boarded up buildings."

"Right there, Dad, oh, park already!"

He did and she dragged them to where she'd seen the pub. "Right here!" she exclaimed.

"But darling..." her mother looked confused and slightly worried. "This is the same as everything else."

Hermione frowned. Were they blind? She pulled them through the door and they immediately gasped. Later she would learn that there was an anti-muggle ward on the place to discourage them from entering. However, once inside the ward was useless, and from then on the Grangers had been able to see the Leaky Cauldron.

"We gotta 'nother one, Tom!" called a man at the bar.

A hunched figure came out of the back and smiled toothlessly at her. "Aye, you must be a new 'Ogwarts student, then?"

Hermione nodded mutely.

"Well... Canna see the letter then?"

She handed it over. After reading it he gave her a searching look, then addressed his companion. "Looks like a Muggleborn. You wanna take 'em or should I?"

"You go ahead, Tom. I got'ta finish with the bar."

"Well then, Miss 'Ermione, we'd best git you to Diagon Alley then. Yer here early, only two other students have come to git their stuff yet."

And he led them, Hermione and her wary parents, to the magical entrance to Diagon Alley. He even became their tour guide of sorts, taking them to Gringotts, where they exchanged muggle cash for wizard money, then to Ollivanders and Flourish and Botts and a myriad of other shops, meticulously checking the things off her supply list.

They spent nearly the whole day in Diagon Alley. Hermione got books upon books, which she began reading as soon as she got home. Her parents had left the decision of whether or not to go up to her. Of course she had. The rest of the summer had been spent memorizing the books she'd obtained. They were more interesting than any muggle novel she had ever read. Especially _Hogwarts: A History._

So on September first, she was dropped off at Kings Cross, and sent on her way after her father helped her load her things in a buggy, and followed the other people she saw with paraphernalia like hers. She didn't speak to anyone, and her unapproachable facade was firmly in place. Fearlessly she stepped through the pillar between platform 9 and 10, to platform 9 3/4.

And it was there that she had her first encounter with friendship, or perhaps more accurately, her first encounter with the wizard who was going to end up being her first friend. He was a rather stout boy with dark hair, hanging on desperately to a quite terrified frog, and looking as if he was being thoroughly lectured by an imposing elderly woman. The frog escaped his grasp, and he dove after it to no avail, right at Hermione's feet.She bent down and picked it up gently, handing it to the boy with a genuinely kind smile.

In this boy she recognized a kindred spirit, though they couldn't have been more different. He thanked her profusely and offered his hand to her. "Hello, I'm Neville Longbottom. Thanks for catching Trevor. He's a bit of an escape artist."

She chuckled, for Hermione Granger rarely laughed. "I can see that. I'm Hermione Granger and I'm pleased to make your aquaintance, Neville. I believe your, ah, grandmother is calling you," and she pointed over his shoulder.

Sure enough, the old woman was calling for him. "Neville, you'd best get on the train before you lose that dratted frog again."

"I suppose I'll see you train Hermione. Maybe we could get a compartment together. Coming Grandmother!" He tripped away, leaving Hermione slightly bemused.

Neville would become her best friend for the first part of the year, and would remain a very good friend even after she, Harry, and Ron formed the 'Gryffindor Golden Trio.' Perhaps her best friend even still. While she didn't have the bond of shared experiences, and cooperative secrets with Neville that she did with Harry and Ron, there was something else there. He'd been the one to coax her out of the tough shell she'd built around herself, inadvertently or otherwise, though it had ultimately been the other two that tore it all the way down. And in return she'd helped him find his love of Herbology. A true gift when he considered himself a failure in everything else to do with magic.

There was something indefinable about she and Neville's friendship. A mutual respect and gratitude. Sometimes she felt like he was the only one she could truly confide in, like sometimes Ron was the only one Harry would tell things and vice versa. It was as if the two boys had a whole different kind of (platonic) relationship outside the box of Hermione, Ron, and Harry, that oftentime, as the only girl, Hermione felt doubly left out of.

And that was why Neville was so important to her. When Harry and Ron got all secretive with each other and refused to make her privvy to their thoughts she would talk to Neville and he would inevitably make her feel better. She had no romantic feelings for him whatsoever, nor he for her. They had simply been each other's first real friend and that was a bond that could never be broken.

One week into holidays, as she sat reminiscing about that friendship, Hermione realized that because she had been so steeped in her own emotional turmoil she had completely neglected to let Neville know what was going on. Then came the realizion that she had no way of actually _getting_ a message to him. For the umpteenth time she berated herself for not purchasing an owl of her own.

Just as she was beginning to bite her lip in an effort to find a solution for this problem, a frantic tapping began at her window. Startled, Hermione looked and saw Pigwidgeon, Ron's hyperactive little owl, accompanied by a much older and slightly irritated looking Errol. She opened her window, and Pig flew in and flitted about her room several times before settling on her desk and tapping his claws in an aggitated way. Crookshanks merely eyed the small bird in a superiorly annoyed fashion, and went back to sleep on the bed. Errol merely walked through and extended his leg and Hermione untied the parchment

"Um, thanks. Do you two want some water or something?" she kept a perpetually filled water bowl on her desk for just such occasions. The owls drank gratefully, and Hermione wrestled the other note from Pigs leg amidst many hoots and nips. Finally, when she had them both, she took a look at them. One was from Molly and Arthur Weasley, the other was from Ron and Ginny.

The one from the elder Weasley's read,

_Dear Hermione,_

_Harry owled us your request and the other bit of news and we must say that we are quite flabbergasted. Should we take this to mean that you are not Muggle-born after all? I know that you must not want to speak so freely about it over post, but we are all itching to know the details. _

_Of course, we would be happy to have you. The more the merrier. Harry will, of course, be coming to stay with us soon. Do you suppose you could wait until then? It won't be much longer, no doubt Harry will be owling us to say he simply can't stand it there another moment, quite soon. Muggles or not, that is a dreadful family. _

_Other than the obvious, how have you been? I do hope you work things out with your family. We met them briefly at Flourish and Botts a while back and I could tell immediately that they love you and are immensely proud of you. Don't judge them too harshly, I'm certain they had your best interests at heart._

_As you must realize, Ron, Harry, Ginny, Fred, George... oh, my, well, the whole family is most curious and has been nagging us, mostly ME senseless with questions I've no clue how to answer. Honestly, how did you expect a little slip of a note like the one you sent Harry to appease them?_

_We'll owl you just as soon as we have a set time to come for you. Do you have a fireplace? And if you do, do you suppose your parents would consent to have it temporarily hooked up to the floo network? If not, it's fine. We'll see you when we can, dear, keep in touch._

_Love, Molly Weasley_

_P.S. (From Arthur) If they do consent to have their fireplace attached to the floo network, could you confirm that it's not built over with bricks or anything else? Thank you._

Hermione smiled at this last bit. Some of the other things in the letter had hit some still exposed nerve endings. Molly's unconscious parallel to what her birth mother had written in her letter to her. She still hadn't shown it to the Grangers. Why did everyone seem to want her to so readily forgive them? They had hurt her by keeping their secret for so long, and she simply wasn't _ready_ to forgive yet. She unrolled the note from Ron and Ginny.

_Dear Hermione_

_HOW DARE YOU SEND US THAT LITTLE BIT OF NOTHING AND EXPECT US TO BE SATISFIED? WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU THINKING? DON'T YOU GIVE ME SOME TRIVIAL EXCUSE ABOUT NOT WANTING TO SAY ANYTHING OVER THE POST, EITHER BECAUSE IT'S NOT GOING TO WORK! I CANNOT POSSIBLY WAIT ANOTHER MINUTE TO FIND OUT WHAT'S GOING ON!_

_By the way, I miss you terribly. It's so awfully boring around here with only my brothers and Mum and Dad for company. I wish you were here. Love you lots, Bye_

_--Love Ginny_

Hermione blinked once and wondered how Ginny could be like a carbon copy of her mother angry one paragraph, and a sweet little girl the next. Mind boggling, that was. She went on to read the second half, which was from Ron.

_Hi, 'Mione, how are you? Sorry about Ginny there, she's been batty all week. I think she misses Harry. Either that or she's got the, you know, **woman thing. **Ahem! I won't ask you what's going on, I'm sure you'll tell us, so I'll wait patiently until you come to the Burrow. Until I see you again---Ron_

_P.S.(From Ginny) Don't listen to him, Hermione, he's been in a fair tizzy since we got the letter from Harry. If anyone's got the 'woman thing' it's him! But really, though, he's so worried about YOU that he's been driving ME daft with off the wall theories. As per usual. Love Again, Ginny!_

In an immensely better mood, Hermione wrote a polite reply to the letter from Molly and Arthur. Then an equally polite denial to Ginny's, er, _request_ for more information. As well as mischieviously noting that she hadn't denied Ron's comment about Harry. Did she miss him? And finally to Ron she said how terribly sexist it was to put all female feelings down to the menstrual cycle. She was satisfied that this would embarrass him into never saying such a thing again. Then she sent Errol and Pigwidgeon on their way.

She had already finished her second read-through of her book and was therefor out of things to take up her time. Her mundane routine was to wake up, wait for her parents to leave, get up, eat breakfast, read, eat lunch, read, tidy up, read, go to her room when her parents returned from work, read, come out to eat and awkwardly silent supper, go back to her room, read, sleep, and repeat the entire thing over again.

But today she was feeling restless. She did her best to capture her hair in a ponytail, donned a simple tank top and jeans with a matching denim jacket, then grabbed a shoulder-bag and headed out. She had no set destination, and reconciled to just see where she ended up. Before she knew it her feet had carried her to the library. Then bypassed it. She walked for another twenty minutes at least, before she found herself at her old secondary school. Had she returned here after that fateful summer, she would have begun taking preperatory classes for her GCSE--General Certificate of Education--along with her thirteen or fourteen year old classmates. If she hadn't gotten the letter and went to Hogwarts, she would probably be at university right now.

Hermione looked up at the overcast sky and hunched her shoulders against the wind, though it wasn't exactly cold. Or perhaps she curled in against the memories, some good, but mostly bad. Infact, the only good times she could recall here had been spent in the library, she thought ruefully, poring over the latest texts Mrs. Hasslebach had gotten in and saved especially for her. Hermione wondered if Mrs Hasslebach was still the librarian, though it was doubtful. She'd been getting on in years, even then, and had probably retired by now.

If classes hadn't already let out for holiday, they would very soon, Hermione thought, and as it crossed her mind, she heard a bell from within, afterwhich a moment later students began milling out of the several exits. Hermione waited around wondering if she would see anyone she recognized. According to her calculations, this would be the last year for the students two years "lower" than herself. And it hadn't been only people in her own grade that had bullied her. Especially on the playground.

Soon she was rewarded with the sight of a group, the exact _same_ group, of boys who had been particulary tenacious in their humiliation of her. Ian McCallister, Nicolas Goldstein, Andrew Collins, and Geofrey Stanton. It was distantly amazing to her how easily the names came back to her. They had been the authors of her misery back then, much as Malfoy had been these past six years. It seemed she was destined to be the target of bullies.

At first they didn't see her. They were laughing at something, and slyly hurling rocks at the other students. It also seemed that they were, ah, _jocks_ she believed was the american term for them. They had letter jackets(do they have letter jackets in England?) and one of them had a basketball.

One of them noticed her, and must have recognized that he had seen her somewhere even if he didn't know where or when. She hadn't changed that much, just got a bit taller and slimmer looking. And she no longer had bucked teeth of course. They _swaggered_ over to her, and Hermione couldn't help but smile at their obviousness. The leader, Ian, uncannily reminded her of Malfoy, though he was several centimeters taller and broader, and his face wasn't quite so pointed, (Though, if she thought about it, Malfoy's face wasn't as pointed as it had been when she'd first encountered him in first year. It was still rather sharp however) nor was Ian's hair as white blond. No, the thing that most reminded her of Malfoy were Ian's eyes. They weren't a startling silver, but a glacial blue, however, she recognized the gleam in them. Cruelty, malevolence, and all around bad will emanated from those eyes, and tried to cower anyone brave or idiotic enough to meet them.

It was lucky then, that Hermione had six years of experience with these kind of eyes under her belt, and had long since obtained immunity, and had even mastered her own brand of withering scorn, which she brandished through her own brown orbs.

She addressed and nodded to each in turn. "Goldstein, Collins, Stanton... McCallister." The other three appeared to be nothing more than muscelbound goons, rather like Crabbe and Goyle.

Apparently startled at his lack of effect on her, Ian narrowed his eyes, trying desperately to place her. Then it came to him. "Granger? Bucktooth Granger?" he hooted maliciously. "It's been a while hasn't it? How was France?" This one wasn't stupid, Hermione thought calculatingly, though by the looks of the others, she had been right in her earlier assessment. They just stood there with stupidly evil smirks on their faces. No doubt about it--they had the combined IQ of a teacup.

"Oh, Ian, do try to be more observant. As you can plainly tell, I've no longer got abnormally large front teeth. But _you're_ still as frightfully dull as ever I see. Why, I remember the time I beat you at that spelling tournament. Hmm, let's see, motion, M-O-S-H-U-N was it?" she cocked an eyebrow and got the pleasure of seeing his face redden, and that annoyingly_ Malfoy_ish smirk wiped from his (it really was quite pointed after all) face.

"Ah, I see finally grew into your... teeth so to speak. And you have some claws too I see. With your hair, I always did think you rather looked like a lion. Or one of those ugly flatfaced cats." he sneered.

Hermione pursed her lips. This was actually quite fun. This boy's taunts were nothing compared to what she'd been faced with in the past. "How original. And I suppose your body grew to match your feet, though they are still _freakishly_ large."

At this, Ian's composure began to slip and he openly scowled. "Watch it Granger. Your mouth might get you into trouble someday. Or even today"

This got Hermione riled. In her wrath she barely noticed the school grounds emptying of people. "Oh, yeah? And what are you gonna do about it? Beat up a girl? Oh I forgot, bullies don't care who they pick on, as long as they're smaller and weaker than they are.Well I've got news for you--I'm used to it. Your not clever, or smart, nor do you have even a modicum of originality" She was losing herself in the anger, in the impotence she had felt her entire life, and was now venting every feeling of inferiority she had ever felt about any of the bullies she had encountered. But particularly the one that had made her life hell the longest. And it wasn't Ian McCallister, he was merely a convenient scratching post.

"You know what, _Ian_? I cannot believe you have the nerve to talk down to me. Even at, what is it now, seventeen?, you still act like a two year old. Throwing a fit when you don't get your way, you big baby. Scowling when you realize that someone might have more brain power in their pinky finger than you do in your entire body, you idiot. Getting offended when someone finally speaks their mind to you, even though you have no notion that what you say hurts others. Either that, or you don't care, you absolute _git_. Do you know what you are, Mal-McCallister? You're a coward. The lowest sort of coward on the totem pole too, a bully. You're not fit to inhale the air I breathe, NOT the other way around! Do you know how long I've wanted to say that?"

Hermione was breathless from her rant, and practically gulping the air. Her rage spent, she was finally able to realize what she had done. It had just felt so good to get that out that she hadn't really thought about it. A first for her. And now that she had expelled the ugly words, she realized her error. She had just insulted--numerous times--someone much bigger than her who had three reinforcements that were larger than him. In an empty parking lot. _Stupid!_ she chided herself as the fear slowly blossomed in her clearing head. _Stupid, reckless Hermione!_

Ian's face had grown steadily darker throughout her tirade, and he and his buddies seemed to loom even larger. "No Granger, but I reckon it's been a long time," Slowly they began to advance, and for every step Hermione took backwards they took two. Ian bent down and she could feel his afternoon bad-breath on her cheek. The only wild thought that occurred to her was--_'I bet Malfoy wouldn't let his breath get this bad_,'--before Ian whispered silkily into her ear, "Didn't I tell you that mouth would get you into trouble Granger? But my mates and I... we can think of better uses for it, can't we boys?"

There was a collective nod, that McCallister seemed to sense because he smiled. "See, Granger? You asked for it. And there's nothing an ickle girl like you can do about it, especially when she's all alone"

Hermione's brain was working overtime. Fear was trying to get the better of her, but she stubbornly refused to let it. She'd faced _Death Eaters_ for God's sake, surely she could outsmart a few horny teenage tyrants. She had gravely miscalculated McCallister, putting him on the same level as Malfoy. She realized now, that while Malfoy could hex her, could probably even use an unforgivable on her, he could not actually _hurt_ her. He wouldn't attack her at school, nor, even more likely, would he sully himself by touching her or her tainted blood. McCallister had no such qualms. He would touch her, he might even rape her.

Her first mistake had been approaching him in an uncontrolled environment, but her most grievous mistake had been superimposing Malfoy over him. McCallister was a schoolyard bully, with no other agenda other than to hurt. And if she didn't do something soon, hurt her he would. Quickly she brought her knee up with the intent of knocking his balls all the way up to his tonsils, but he moved his leg just in time to prevent the incapacitating blow. She did manage to sufficiently startle him into letting her go, however, and she immediately took off at a sprint just as the sky began to weep great torrents of rain.

Just as she thought she might just get away, there was a hard yank on her ponytail. Her forward momentum caused her to slip on the slick pavement and fall on her back. Hard. All the air left her lungs in a whoosh, and there was a dizzying pain at the back of her head that caused dots to dance in front of her eyes. Dazed, she looked up and saw that the boys had made a square around her, Ian on the right side of her head. He knelt down and rubbed his thumb over her lips. She spit at him, and even in her disabled state had the dignity to glare.

He wiped the spittle from his cheek and said in that same smooth voice, "You've actually become quite pretty. Pity your such a bitch. And it's such a shame we're going to rearrange that beautiful mug of yours. What do you say we rough her up a bit first, eh boys? To show her what us _cowards _are capable of?"

"You got it, Ian." Said the rather meaty looking Goldstein.

"Yeah, It'll be our pleasure, mate," seconded a sneering Stanton, while cracking his knuckles.

The last thing she saw was a fist headed straight for her, and white hot pain erupted behind her eyelids. Then all went black.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That night, when Mr. and Mrs. Granger arrived home the red light on their answering machine was blinking, signaling that they had a message. Earlier, on their lunch break, they had resolved to confront their daughter together that evening. It was unfair of her to ignore them like she had been and frankly, they were tired of her moping about, acting the part of a martyr. They had given her a good life, and they loved her just as much as they would if she was their own flesh and blood.

They marched through the house in search of Hermione, and were bewildered when they yielded no results. She wasn't even in her room, though her bed was meticulously made, as she always did before leaving her room. They briefly entertained the idea that she'd run away then discarded it when they saw her trunk in it's usual place in the bottom of her closet. They were relatively certain she wouldn't leave without it.

It was then, that Mrs. Granger distractedly pressed the button on the answering machine. Their greeting played through, confirming or dissaffirming that the person had reached the right residence. Then a man, sounding frantic, and quite uncomfortable, relayed his heart-stopping news.

"_Mr. and Mrs. Granger, this is Constable Franklin Yeary. There's been an incident involving you're daughter. She's been found in the parking lot of Eaton School and rushed immediately to St. Francis's Hospital. It's, uh, it doesn't look good right now. Rush over post haste when you get this message." Beeeep_

They made it to the hospital in twenty-five minutes, as opposed to the usual forty.

**Evil cliffy wasn't it? I just love cliffhangers. Writing them that is. I hate reading them, but they do insure that, if sufficiently edge-of-seat, that the reader will come back for more. If you read let me know, even if it's to tell me what a horrible person I am.**


End file.
